Lovers Lie, Liars Love
by Tickle Me Rainbow
Summary: To achieve the highest peak of our Creativity; lines have to be crossed, boxes have to be broken, and Logic has to be forgotten. Then, the Artist is awakened.
1. Il capitolo Un

**Summary**: _To achieve the highest peak of our Creativity; lines have to be crossed, boxes have to be broken, and Logic has to be forgotten. Then, the Artist is awakened. _

_**Piacere.**_

* * *

L_**overs L**_ie_**, **_L_**iars L**_ove_**.**_

_Labial_

_**(**__la·bi·al a. of the lips_**)**

**

* * *

**

There Feliciano stood, hiding timidly behind the mahogany doorway; nervous fingers digging into the fine wood. He watches peeking passed the thin crack into the dimly lighted room. He ignores the sting tickling his warm but dazed dark eyes, as he cannot peel his glaze away.

Tilting his head, thick brown locks rub against his round cheek; Feliciano is perplexed as to why _he _would rather—brown irises spark with interest as the unchanged routine is suddenly changed. It wasn't nothing much, but to the tired Italian, it was _change_; A minor detour in _his_ cautiously constructed plan. Counting his next seconds, Feliciano calculated his next course of action.

And thus, the scene unfolded itself, playing ever so slowly before his weary eyes.

The German's silhouette was hunched over his frequently used desk; papers, folders, documents, and letters of all kinds littered its unseen top, overflowing steadily off the dulled edges. Yet the European nation made no move to organize the mess that would have surely bothered him if it was **not** cleaned, instead, he scribbled feverishly on one random document to the next, and the next. It was obvious by the way his fingers hurriedly roamed, the way he left un-neat curves to each word that materialized on the page below him—he wasn't paying the slight bit of attention.

Fair blond hair, usually slicked back, was now in slight disarray as strains of blond limply hang against his forehead. This happened to sport a stressful crease, formed from fair curt brows wrinkled in disdain. Though, deep azure eyes seemed serious as ever, Feliciano silently noted the dark circles that accompanied them.

Then brown irises landed on the German's mouth—it was pressed into a tight thin line, chapped and discolored.

"_No",_ Feliciano though stubbornly, puffing his cheeks childishly, "_Questo non fara!"_

Barely bothering to marvel at how accurate and impressive his vision was, the brunet opened the door—he was amazed how the German did not seem to be fazed by the creaking of the wood—and sauntered pass the threshold, his legs wobbling as if he were drunk with exhaustion. The corners of his mouth were tugged into a small frown as he was _still_ stayed unnoticed.

He halted, arms limp at his sides. Suddenly, a surge of energy jolted him, his arms flinging upwards to catch a mildly surprised face. Gently, he lifted the German's chin so he could star at befuddled but tired azure eyes. The Italian's expression softened and his lips began moving on their own accord...

* * *

Azure eyes intensely follow the movement of soft pale pink lips. Although no words seemed to flow to deaf ears, he could tell by the semi-speed (a certain Spaniard was faster), the clicking of a pink appendage; that the words were spoken in Feliciano's native tongue.

Warmth traveled from the palms that gingerly cupped his cheeks, coaxing his eyelids to fall half way. Unheard messages still floated about, the German slumping forward.

Drifting off into unconsciousness, willingly leaning into the petite Italian's touch—

"—Ludwig?"

Azure eyes snapped open.

"Hmm?"

Liquid brown eyes flickered strangely.

"Nothing."

And then, Ludwig smiled.

* * *

"_I've found my inspiration."_

* * *

**A/N:** _My muse had a heart attack while "Lovers Love Liars Lie" by _**NeverShoutNever!**_ Randomly played; had to treat it some way. So I bring you our silly North Italy in the _**Lovers Lie, Liars Love** _series. Whilst it will usually be random drabbles about whatever comes to mind, along with using different 'L'_ _words in the dictionary as chapter titles, the main plot will later unfold itself—To both you all and myself as well._

_See, my muse smacked me in the face 'round sometime in the morning after a sleepless night…so whatever I had planned then is mostly lost deep within my mind as of right now. However, I remember where it was sort of heading in the next few chapters, so I should do fine._

_Also, I wanted to be like the cool kids and put French and/or Italian in here…so I like abused online translators because I ride the fail boat. :c But we all know the internet is full of LIES, so I haven't the slightest clue if the translations will be 100%_

_I'm terribly sorry and I would love it if anybody that DID know other languages, would love to help me. I would probably pay you in like… one shots or something? Well, until next time. XD;;_

**Blubber Nuggets**


	2. Il capitolo Due

**Summary**: _To achieve the highest peak of our Creativity; lines have to be crossed, boxes have to be broken, and Logic has to be forgotten. Then, the Artist is awakened. _

_**Piacere.**_

* * *

L_**overs L**_ie_**, **_L_**iars L**_ove_**.**_

_Laborer_

_**(**__la·bor·er n. worker; esp., unskilled worker__**)**_

* * *

Feliciano slowly blinked.

With both hands held outstretched before him; only his index fingers and thumbs from each hand being used. Yes, he had successfully formed the 90 degree 'L' angle, aforementioned digits stretched as far as they could possibly go.

Yet he had yet to see the results. How was one to ever make their own film if they couldn't see through the eyes of the camera? Sure, the Italian had tired this with the camera itself, but no magic could be seen from behind the lens. One could only capture their desired shot by first looking through the _window_.

Feliciano hoped to god his _Fratello Grande _wasn't lying. "Of course Romano wouldn't." the short brunet reasoned, "_Fratello Grande _is an artist visionary of classical creativity."It took him a moment to reword what he had strangely said, though, his own rambling wasn't that convincing as of right now. Maybe, he was doing it wrong?

The smallest of pouts was formed.

'_Patience, Feli.'_

Ludwig. Only Ludwig's deep voice would echo throughout his skull, actually attempting to get the easily distracted Italian to be patient. Rolling his shoulders to prevent the creeping stiffness in his upper back, the brunet decided he was already bored. Gradually, his hands drew closer to one another; he himself slipping into quite the daydream. Such a lovely pasta kingdom…

Feliciano blinked, something clicked in his mind. Liquid-brown eyes examined the two slim thumbs several centimeters away, forming a boxy 'U'. Timidly, he turned his right hand, his index finger now pointing down. His eyes widened to focus on the center inside the box he had spontaneously created in mere seconds.

Feliciano gasped softly.

_Now_, if only he could figure out what the hell he just did…

* * *

**A/N**: This is the only other chapter I had finished way back then… so uh, here it is. .A.

I hope the description is written well enough for you all. I'd also like to point out how my first Hetalia fic is about Italy… when I have this like, man-crush on Canada. XDD— Except, I'm not a man. 8U

Erm, I'd also like it if anybody would be kind enough to suggest ideas or something of the like.


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